


Smoldering Memories

by AvaCelt



Category: Korean Drama, equator man
Genre: Gen, Kdrama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaCelt/pseuds/AvaCelt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate ending to episode nine. Jang Il could have turned back, right? Of course he could have, and then he did. He turned back and remembered why he loved the man so much and why, despite everything that’s happened, he can’t let him go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoldering Memories

Jangil had led his hand to where he’d stood and then grasped it. The skin was cool to the touch, even though he’d sworn he’d seen both on the man’s lap and atop each other earlier. Though his eyes remained on the blind man in front of him, his attention wavered to just how smooth the latter’s flesh was. Warm, yet cool. A soothing feeling against the course tension that permeated the small tea house.

And then he’d embraced him. Ten minutes later, he found himself outside and frozen in place.

He turned his head to the side and saw someone sitting solemnly in place, eyes unfocused and head craned slightly to the side, as if in deep contemplation. He had reddish brown hair, skin smooth and tanned, a fit body that looked like it took years to build. A simple, button-up white shirt did it for him, with a pair of sharp khakis that adorned him below the torso. He’d noticed the sandals, and they looked perfectly catered to the man’s feet.

But there was a subtle aura of limitation around him. His hair wasn’t too red, the color only coming to life when rays of sunlight bounced off, as if the concoction used to liven it wasn’t dye but henna instead. His build wasn’t threatening to the average male, and his clothes were the young salary man’s best friend. Even his shoes were the standard ware for the average office worker on their day off, even if the material looked a bit more polished than the rest.

He looked normal. He _was_ normal. Jangil pursed his lips together in annoyance and turned back towards the ally, and walked away from the tea house window. He felt the urge to call his father back so he could have him walk him to the car. But he found himself frozen once more.

A normal man.

Growing up, Jangil had never been normal. So it made more than enough sense when fate made sure that his first friend was also as abnormal as he was. The young man was as vibrant and violent on the outside as Jangil was calm and calculating. But as cruel and unrelenting Jangil was on the inside, his best friend reflected his breaking sanity with kindness and affection- the kind he’d only received from his father. His father should have been enough, he thought that morning in the hospital while his friend slept soundly below. His father should have been enough, but he wasn’t. When the troubled youth walked into the equally troubled Jangil’s life, something clicked. It clicked, turned, and made space in Jangil for another human being. An abnormal, violent, mislaid, gentle soul who’d haunted his dreams and memories for fifteen years.

His steps became heavy, as if shaken. He wanted to call his father, but a fleeting memory came to mind.

His best -his only- friend promised him he’d pay for all his school expenses. He’d said that he’d make sure Jangil would succeed in life, and that he wouldn’t have to worry about something as frivolous as money. Jangil had scoffed it off, but deep down, he’d believed him. And in turn, he promised he’d take care him. He’d promised.

He found himself turning around. A shaky hand produced a phone and punched in numbers. His father’s worried tone on the other line didn’t faze him, and he told him to go. His don’t didn’t reflect his feelings, and his father knew him too well to question his motives. Jangil turned off the device and put it back in his pocket even before making the full one-eighty.

A few more steps, and he’d be back in front of the tea shop window.

He took them, one at a time. He found himself in front of the window. He watched as the solemn man sat with one leg over the other, a tired expression etched on his features. Jangil eyed two or three citizens who had made their way into the shop while he’d turned his back. An elderly man read his paper while two women chattered ceaselessly. The tea server walked to and fro, but didn’t once stop at the solitary man’s table. When Jangil craned his head, he eyed the one, small tea cup that stopped the server from breaking his concentration. But that too looked untouched. It was just him and only him- the tea probably cold by now. He was unaware of everything else, it seemed. Unaware and alone.

Resolve beckoned in the back of his throat, like he’d witnessed on a children’s program one morning. But with that came a wave of depression. A deep, twisted cavern of feelings whose floodgate had a key he thought he’d finally lost- and hoped had stayed lost.

But then the white shirt, khaki trousered man in his early thirties shifted his leg to the side, and felt for his tea cup, his distorted eyes in a calm frenzy. He gingerly picked up the cup at last and brought the thing to his nose. The smell must have tickled his nose, because the man smiled. Not smirked. Not laughed. But smiled. He smiled a small, fleeting smile and drank from the cup as if it was the sweetest thing he’d ever touched. A current of calm surfaced on the man’s tanned features, and he sat- alone with his tea cup.

He didn’t know when he pulled his eyes away from the scene. He didn’t even know when his legs moved, but they did. They did, and he stalked past the old man and the two women and even past the server. And when he was only a yard way from the russet haired man, he stopped and watched. Watched as the dark brown skin of the lone man’s fingers wafted over the ridge of the teacup, as if contemplating on almost anything that came to mind.

He put his hand over his as soon as he got close enough.

Surprised totaled the latter’s face, and Jangil quirked his lips though it was far from being called a smile. But he quirked his lips.

“Jang… il-ah? Is that you?”

The floodgate swung open as the key inserted itself into the pockethole. The tone begged it to be him. It begged it to be him, asked him why he didn’t look for him these past thirteen years, threatened him that had he walked away before- then he would have walked away forever.

And then, his best friend would be gone- forever.

“Ye.” He managed to say, his face kept as neutral as possible. He lightly squeezed the hand that was still on the teacup.

“I thought you had important work.” The latter questioned, a hint confusion underlying his statement.

He counted his blessings, he decided. “I told them I wanted to reschedule. I asked father to head home. And you? You said you had to leave as well.”

A chuckle escaped the man’s lips and memories of a certain rambunctious best friend clouded his thoughts. He tried to recall if his hair had been as red as it was beginning to show now, or if it really was henna that was doing the work.

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting, and you know how much I hate being the last one to say goodbye.” He lipped amiably. “Just because I’m blind doesn’t mean my pride’s on the disabled list as well.” The joke hung in the air like dust in the midmorning. His hand was still over his.

“I’ll treat you to lunch. I know a place that serves your favorite kind of barbeque.” But then his smile fell, and Jangil knew he’d said the wrong thing.

“Father made the best barbeque.” He said absently. “While I was traveling, I sometimes missed the taste of it. Does your father make you barbequed beef, Jangil?”

And then he remembered why he left in the first place- why he spurned this man after thirteen years of losing him. “He cooks for me everyday,” Jangil answered truthfully, while he effectively covered his creeping fear. “Even on nights when I eat with colleagues, he leaves something out for me.”

And Jangil was afraid. A feeling of being able to backtrack slammed into him. He wanted to let go of his hand and turn back around. Tell him that he’d lied, and he didn’t want anything to do with him before leaving. Or, he could just treat him and then tell him this was it. He was a prosecutor- a god damned man of the law. He couldn’t be seen with the likes of him. With the likes of a russet haired man with smooth, brown skin and eyes as dark and deep as the ocean that fateful day by the cliffs. He couldn’t be linked to his past anymore. He wanted no more links. He wanted to be free- free from the guilt.

But his legs had turned against him- his hands even worse as he found himself seated and now both hands encompassing the man’s one hand and tea cup. The bitter feeling of his ambition and career being trampled by this man’s sandaled feet faded as he remembered that these hands were the same ones that taught him how to fight. The same hands that connected with his face and body the few times they fought. The same hands that couldn’t do a thing when he threw him over a cliff and out of life for two years.

“You’re lucky. Your father is lucky.” The words were almost inaudible, but Jangil heard them loud and clear. There was no malice behind them. They sounded just like the night he promised he’d pay for his education.

Just like the evening when he came back in his memories as he realized that his best friend had disappeared without a trace thirteen years ago. He’d upped and gone away- left Jangil chipped and broken. And he wanted him gone, he remembered. Wanted him gone because he was in the way, and now that all of that had passed and he was successful and rich and powerful and known. He was wanted. Nothing could stand in his way now- not even him.

He once again remembered why he left the first time with his father from the forsaken tea shop. He felt his anger begin to bubble- and anger that he thought he had in control. He remembered he hated this man. He hated this man because this man could ruin him. This was not his best friend- this blind man was the end of him.

And this time, he could control his legs and hands, and they slipped back into his possession. The trance faded. He recalled why he hated this man so much. His Ji Won, his father, his career- all on the line because of him. He had no right to make him feel Jangil this way. He had no right. Jangil pursed his lips.

“Well, aren’t you going to call me a cab? You still owe me from that time we drank together. I want compensation for my lost money because of your drinking habit.” He joked.

Jangil allowed for his fists to clench. He was angry. Angry again, so angry that he didn’t quite know why he was _so damned angry._ Why couldn’t he just stop being angry? It wasn’t as if this man could do anything to him. He was disabled, a damned wanderer who managed to scrape up enough cash to buy himself some suitable clothing. Crisp white shirt- pressed new khakis- nicely polished leather sandals. He was the beacon of normality- just blind as well. He could do _nothing_ to him, not even if he tried. He was just there. He was nothing compared to Prosecutor Lee Jangil.

Then why did it hurt? Why hadn’t he looked for him? His hand moved on its own accord and wrapped around the sitting man’s arm. “Come with me.”

The disconcerting eyes only added to the spectacle as the man cocked his head to the side. “I’ll get the bill. Just get the cab.”

“No.” He heard himself say. “I can pay the tab. Come with me. We’ll walk to the place.”

The man frowned. “I don’t have my cane.” His hands shifted on the table, and the teacup almost tipped over.

Jangil moved the cup out of his way. “That’s fine. I’ll lead you. Just come with me.”

And he complied, another easy smile that touched his lips. The floodgates in Jangil’s heart were already torn off their hinges and tossed to the side. The man reached for Jangil’s arm to get up, and Jangil instead found him simply hauling from his seat instead.

“Thank you.” The latter whispered almost gratefully. “I’d thought you’d truly left me behind for good.”

If someone had told him he was being insane, he’d have believed them and promptly let go of the blind man and left. But no one did, and when no one did, no one influenced him. It was just Jangil, the blind man, and a small teacup.

“Let’s go,” he heard himself say. He watched as the blind man produced his tinted glasses and put them on. He tightened his arm around Jangil’s.

And Jangil remembered that in fifteen years, he’d forgotten how it felt like to be loved and cared for by someone other than his father. And he remembered that his anger was his bane, and his bane was being broken down by this very man- his best friend. Thirteen years. He’d found him again after thirteen years, and a part of him still wanted him gone. Gone from his life.

But Jangil’s memories and dreams would take no other answer. The blind man’s youthful face haunted the days he was alone and without anyone to share his pain with. His pained expression lurked in his thoughts whenever he was anywhere near a large body of water. Jangil’s body ached for a shoulder to cry on whenever his father had a fever, or whenever a fever touched him. His chest clenched when he realized that he didn’t have anyone to celebrate his birthday with other than his father. He pulled at his hair at times, cursed fate most of the time, and tried to push the thoughts of the deep, brown eyed man away from him. He made himself suffer for thirteen years.

And he could have done it again. He could have wrenched off the brown hands and left. But he found himself embracing the man, and when the tears sprang in his eyes, he held him closer and buried his head in the crook of his neck.

“I didn’t know you missed me this much.” He heard somewhere close .

“Welcome back,” he whispered. He felt the other man respond to the embrace and they stood latched to each other for some time.

“Thank you,” he heard.

“Welcome back,” he repeated. “Welcome back, Sun Woo.” His best friend. Not the normal, blind man that drank his tea alone. But his Sun Woo. His other half. The one who’d made him and almost destroyed him. The one who continually haunted his memories as a smoldering piece of paper like the ones he’d burnt fifteen years before. The one who refused to let him forget, but let him go long enough for him to become this great and powerful man. The one who he thought he’d lost for good, along with everything else meaningful with nothing left in the end but a broken soul and an empty heart- only to return and make him whole again from scratch. His maker.

His best friend.


End file.
